


What a Heavy Burden Is Fame

by BloodyMary



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commissar Ciaphas Cain, Hero of the Imperium, faces another threat to the Imperium and, more importantly, his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Heavy Burden Is Fame

While I run into the risk of sounding trite, I have to admit that being famous can be quite a burden at times. (1) Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s usually very pleasant, what with the noble-born ladies throwing themselves into my arms, and important people offering free drinks and free food, just so that they can say they spoke to me, but there are moments where one wonders if it’s really worth it.  
  
Had I known what would happen during the diner, I would have eaten Jurgen’s socks instead of accepting the invitation. But it was too late for regrets, so I threw my wineglass at the nearest cultist and ducked for cover. Once I was shielded by a sturdy overthrown table, I surveyed my surroundings.   
  
The Governor’s guards were shooting, but missing most of the time. The cultists were apparently much better trained, since the hits they made did not appear to reach their targets by pure chance some of the time. Then something tugged on my greatcoat, and I found out that some complete and utter moron let a child out.   
  
“Lady Imelda,” gasped one of the guards, and with a sinking feeling I realized this was the Governor’s daughter. Lady Imelda gave me a wide-eyed look of terror, and glued herself to my leg.  
  
“’m scared,” she said, which wasn’t helping anyone much, and only meant that I would have to make sure she stayed safe, instead of shoving her into the hands of the nearest guard. So, I did the only reasonable thing I could and picked the girl up. She glued herself to my neck, and kicked me in the stomach.  
  
Unfortunately for me, I neglected to take my carapace armour with me. By now, I ought to have learned that no place in the galaxy is safe, but there I was cowering behind a table and with a child attached to me. I was acutely aware that I could not remain in my hiding place much longer: las-fire and stubber bullets were chewing away at my cover, and soon enough the cultists would storm it.   
  
I braved a quick scan and fired a few shots, taking down three cultists, but no way out presented itself to me. I was trapped.  
  
And then there was a bright flash that left after images dancing in my eyes, and a familiar aroma of unwashed socks mixed with halitosis reached my nose. My happiness at the sudden presence of my aide was short-lived, as Lady Imelda promptly threw up down my collar.   
  
“I thought you could use my help, sir,” Jurgen said placidly. As usually, I had left him to keep an eye on our ride, since polite company rarely is ready for my aide’s charm (2). Fortunately for me, (3) cultist do not qualify as such and so, Jurgen's appearance was a much welcome sight.  
  
I made another quick scan of my surroundings, and realized that Jurgen had given me the perfect opportunity to make myself scarce. Given that I’d be also bringing the Lady Imelda to safety, it seemed like this would be one of those tactical retreats that would turn out to boost my underserved reputation for heroics.   
  
“Come on, Jurgen,” I barked, and my aide turned to cover my retreat without any comment. We rushed past the corpses left by his entry, and out into the luxurious corridor. Or at least what was left of it. Now the walls were pock-marked by las-shots, and the floor covered with blood and dirt carried on the shoes of the aggressors. Fortunately, they all seemed to have rushed into the reception hall, and so our escape was going mostly unhampered. Mostly, being the keyword here.  
  
As it turns out, a four-years-old weighs quite a lot and one simply cannot run as quickly as if one were unencumbered. I had to slow down. Naturally, just as I came to this conclusion, and my speed became closer to a lethargic trot, something that perhaps once had been human burst out from one of the rooms. Reflexively, I dove for cover, which turned out to be an ornamental table. The creature threw itself at me, only for Jurgen to fire his melta.   
  
Afterimages danced across my retinas, and my passenger began to whimper softly. Clearly, it was becoming too much for a child to bear, but we didn’t have any options but to run towards the door and hope that our Chimera was still standing. With the Lady Imelda clinging to my chest like a limpet, I could not exactly use my chainsword—I had to rely on Jurgen, my las-gun and my legs. So I stumbled out of hiding and managed another few meters of a brisk jog, until I reached another ornamental piece of furniture – a sofa – to duck behind.   
  
“I want Lila,” the Lady Imelda announced. It wasn't helpful in any way, and to be honest left me rather stumped for an answer.   
  
In the end, I settled for a “She's not here” and dove behind a pillar. The door was only a few steps away, but my small burden was proving to be ever more difficult to bear. The girl clearly did not take no for an answer and demanded that Lila, whoever that was, were produced now, right away or else. Else apparently being waling and kicking me where she could. As harsh as it sounds, carrying the girl when she was scared out of her mind was much easier.  
  
And then, because even the smallest problem is a gate to disaster, the door burst open and a Space Marine in the livery of the traitorous Thousand Sons entered the hall. I really ought to have had learned that nothing was ever easy, and if anything seems like it's going to be an easy way to boost my reputation, it will leave me frantically wishing I had never left my bed.   
  
(1) At this point, I have started considering editing out all mentions of the woes of fame, as they were getting rather repetitive, but in the end I've decided Cain's memoirs wouldn't be the same without them.  
  
(2) As the Lady Imelda demonstrated.  
  
(3) Though not Cain's shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RiaR competition with the prompt "Fame". So... I tried to write Ciaphas Cain...


End file.
